She knew what would happen next. There would be a demand for money in return for silence and she would have to decide what she was going to do about that. Giving in to bullies and blackmailers had never been her style, though she wondered a little wearily when she would ever be free of the past. She could never forget it, of course, but she could try to live with it, to carry the burden of her history, to keep the secret. If only there were not others so intent on reminding her….
She gave herself a little shake. These blue devils were very unlike her. She was anxious at the prospect of the opening of the new garden and the enforced mingling with the Duchess’s guests, of course. She disliked grand social occasions. And then there had been Jane’s mention of the Glory Girls’ activities. But there was no intimation that the authorities were any closer to identifying the group of female desperadoes who occasionally—very occasionally—terrorized the rich and miserly to redress the balance for the poor and needy.
And the letter…Well, she would just have to wait and see what happened there. Hester would help her. They always helped one another. Hester and Laura were the only ones who knew all her secrets.
With a decisive step, Mari crossed the room to ring the bell for Jane to come and help her dress. It was going to be a beautiful day. The new garden would be a raging success, the Duchess’s guests would be suitably appreciative and at the end of it life in Peacock Oak would settle back into the same peaceful routine it had possessed for the last few years. Nevertheless, Mari felt a chill.
Someone was coming. She could sense it. Someone dangerous.
CHAPTER TWO
Wood Sorrel—Secret sweetness
“IT HAS BEEN A HUGE success, I think,” Laura Cole said, later that day. She slipped her arm through Mari’s and together they walked down the slope from the wooded garden, past the cascade with its secret mossy pools, past the fountain fringed by weeping willow and down to the formal gardens at the back of the house. Cole Court glowed pale in the evening sunshine.
“I am so tired,” Laura said. She pulled a face. “And my feet hurt. These gold slippers were such a foolish choice for today! But—” she squeezed Mari’s arm “—thank you, dearest Mari, because the whole thing has been marvelous.”
“I am glad that you have enjoyed it,” Mari said. She glanced at her friend. “If it comes to that, you have worked quite hard yourself, Laura, in entertaining your guests. I do not envy you that. Give me plants anytime.”
“Oh, some of our guests have been dire,” Laura agreed. “So rude! I heard Lady Faye calling you quite the little artisan, Mari. What a poisonous, patronizing toad of a woman she is. And then she was pushing poor Lydia into John Teague’s arms all day when all he wished to do was speak with Hester.” Laura cast a look around. “Where is Hester? Has she gone home already?”
“You know she takes hours to prepare for a ball,” Mari said.
“Dampening her petticoats, I suppose,” Laura said. Her rather plain face broke into a mischievous smile. “Oh, what a cat I am! You know that I love Hester dearly, but the gown that she wore for Lady Norris’s rout last week was barely decent. Can you not speak to her, Mari?”
“No,” Mari said. “I am not her mother.” She laughed. “I have tried, Laura, but you know that Hester goes her own way.”
“I suppose so,” Laura said, sighing. She paused to admire a display of roses growing against the pale red brick of the old walled garden. “Frank tells me that you grew these roses from old cottage garden stock. Are they very ancient?”
“Hundreds of years old,” Mari said.
“They look so pretty with the lavender,” Laura said. “My own little cottage garden!”
Mari smiled inwardly to see the Duchess of Cole playing at owning a cottage garden when the acres of Cole Court were spread all around them. She had originally met Laura at the Skipton Horticultural Society and Laura had quickly been taken with the idea that she wanted Mari to help redesign the gardens at Cole Court. In vain had Mari protested that the Duchess was quite above her touch and helping to redesign such extensive gardens was a challenge for a more experienced horticulturalist. Laura, with all of a Duchess’s disregard for convention, had decided that she wanted both Mari’s designs and Mari’s friendship, and there was no arguing with her. Laura was so likable and so utterly without the snobbery that often came with high estate that Mari found she could not refuse her. And so Laura had persuaded her and they had worked together on the plans for the best part of two years, and now they were firm friends in spite of Mari’s reservations. She knew that letting people close to her was a dangerous business and being the protégée of the Duchess of Cole brought too much attention, attention that she did not crave. She had seen the effect of that today. All society in the county took its cue from the Duchess of Cole and now that Laura Cole had a new garden, everyone else wanted one, too, and they were all clamoring for her designs.
“There is Lady Craven,” Laura said, waving. “She tells me that she will be asking you to design a knot garden and a herb terrace for her at Levens Park.”
Mari nodded dolefully. “Lord Broughton has already approached me, as has Mrs. Napier and Lady Jane Spring.”
“Everyone is talking about you,” Laura said. “They think you are most talented.”
“They are very generous,” Mari said. “I was sure that the Persian Paradise Fountain would not work and that all the fruit trees would be attacked by aphids and die.”
“You are too modest, or perhaps too pessimistic,” Laura said. She looked at her and sighed. “I am sorry, Mari. I forget sometimes that you have no taste for company and had chosen Peacock Oak to live because it was so quiet.”
“Yes,” Mari said. She laughed. “That was before you came back to live here! The lawyer made a particular point of telling me that it was a little backwater of a place where nothing ever happened! I thought it sounded perfect—before you arrived!”
They laughed together. “Well—” a shade of bitterness entered Laura’s voice now “—I suppose I could have gone back to Buckinghamshire, or to Norfolk or Surrey or another of the Cole seats, but I preferred Yorkshire because it was the farthest I could get away from Charles.”
“Oh, Laura!” Mari put a hand on her arm. “Is it truly so bad?”
“Having a hopeless regard for one’s own husband and knowing he does not return your feelings?” Laura nodded. “Yes, it is that bad. And now that Charles has joined me here for the summer it is even worse.”
“I am sorry,” Mari said. “Never having had a husband I cannot understand, but I do sympathize.”
“Hush!” Laura looked around. “Someone will hear you and where will the respectable Mrs. Osborne be then?”
“Back in deep trouble, I imagine,” Mari said. She glanced across at the clock on the stable block tower. Above it, the weathervane with its iron-carved highwayman was unmoving in the still air. Mari shook her head to see it. Laura’s sense of humor took her breath away sometimes.
“I had better let you go and dress,” she said. “You will be unconscionably late for your own ball as it is. I will hunt up Hester and make sure that she is ready, too.”
“You will come, won’t you?” Laura caught her hands. “Just for a little time? Please, Mari—”
Mari had been intending to spend the evening quietly, but now that she saw her friend’s pleading face she relented. “Oh, very well. Just for a little. I suppose it cannot do any harm.”
“So that is your opinion of the fabled hospitality of the Coles,” Laura said, laughing, as she waved a farewell and made her way toward the terrace. “I will see you in a short while.”
The gardens were deserted now. The sun was sinking behind the fells and the blue of twilight